The Floating Kloppyhead
by HaleyDub
Summary: By Monkey & Kora - This is a story about eight of our own newsies who complain too much and are taught their lessons in a most unusual way...
1. Things Aren't Always What They Seem

*Things Aren't Always What They Seem*  
-Kora- 

Gene Kloppman, the caretaker of the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House, was very busy doing all sorts of caretaker-stuff when a cry arose from upstairs. 

"Kloppman!" Jack called from the bunkroom. "The middle toilet's plugged again!" 

Shaking his head wearily, Kloppman trudged up the stairs. "Hold on for a second, I'll get it!" he replied with a sigh. 

"Hurry up, Kloppman!" whined Les, hopping from one foot to another. "I really gotta go!" 

The older man peered at the youngest Jacobs son. "There's other toilet's here." 

Les' voice increased in pitch, if that was possible. "But Mush and David are usin' 'em!" 

Kloppman grumbled as he finished inspecting the plugged potty. "Don't know what that kid's doin' here, anyway. Don't he have a home?" 

"Phew," Blink held his nose and waved a hand in the air as he passed by the washroom. "It stinks in there. Isn't there somethin' ya can do to make it smell good?" 

Kloppman, by then quite perturbed, didn't bother to answer. When he returned from the storage closet with a plunger, Dave and Mush emerged from the other toilet stalls. 

"Man, Klopp, it's dirty in there. Dontcha ever clean it?" Kloppman ground his teeth in frustration, but didn't bother to chastise Mush. Yet. 

"'Ey Kloppman!" Race yelled from the bunkroom, where he was shuffling a deck of cards. "Ya got anythin' ta eat around here?" 

"Only the usual," Jack answered before elderly man could respond. 

"Ugh," groaned Race, his nose wrinkling in disgust. "Can't ya make anythin', somethin', better than that slop ya try ta pass off as stew?" 

Dave, who had finished up in the washroom, looked around at all the bunks. "Aw, do I have to sleep under Les' bunk?" he complained. Les had certain...bladder problems, and Dave really didn't want to run the risk. "Every time I'm here..." he trailed off as Spot, who was spending the night in Manhattan due to a poker game gone overtime, glared at him. 

"Yeah, well, I gots the only other bunk," the Brooklyn leader declared. "And I sure ain't sleepin' under that kid's bunk, so yoah just gonna have ta deal with it, Mouth." Not daring to challenge Spot, Dave held up his hands in defeat and backed away. Off in the other side of the room, Crutchy shivered, and pulled his blanket more tightly around him. 

"Sheez, it's cold in here," he said. He addressed Kloppman, who was still in the bunkroom. "Isn't there anythin' ya can do with the heat? I don't think the temperature's good for my leg." Kloppman waved his hand in dismissal, 

"Hey, now, that's enough, no more complainin." As he headed back down the stairs, Spot's voice followed him. 

"What d'ya mean this is my bunk? This is the draftiest cornah of the room! It ain't fit foah Spot Conlon! I'll have ta speak with yoah management about this!" By the time he had reached the bottom of the stairs, Kloppman was fuming. 

"Complain, complain, whine, whine, whine. That's all these kids ever do. If only they knew how good they have it..." 

Suddenly, Kloppman was struck with an idea. His eyes glinted in anticipation. He knew what he could do. And he need only wait until the boys fell asleep. 

*** 

Half an hour later, Kloppman held his breath and listened intently. Nothing. A smile crept upon his face. There was no noise coming from upstairs save the sound of slumbering newsboys. Secretively, glancing around to make sure not even a mouse was watching, Kloppman reached into his desk and pulled something out of a hidden drawer. Chuckling to himself, Kloppman crept up the stairs. He glanced around at the bunks full of potential victims. Selecting his victims, er, students, Kloppman raised the arm that held the object: a wizard's wand. A mysterious grin on his face, Kloppman mumbled the incantation words. There was a burst of wind, and 8 of the room's inhabitants disappeared. Kloppman gave a nod of approval, then returned downstairs to prepare for bed. 


	2. Davey Does A Rain Dance

Davey Does A Rain Dance

*Davey Does A Rain Dance*  
-Monkey-

David Jacobs woke up with a start. Was the lodging house roof leaking? Remembering that he was on the bottom bunk, he groaned. Les was above him. Go figure. 

But then, as David sat up, he suddenly realized that he was sitting on the ground. Outside. _In the rain._

"What kind of a prank..." he started, standing and looking at his surroundings. 

The first thing Dave noticed was that he was in a forest, and that it was very hot. Rubbing the back of his neck, he started wandering aimlessly, in a daze. A slight rustling caught his ear, and he froze in his tracks. 

Suddenly, a loud cry erupted from the bushes and several leather-clad people rushed up and took hold of Davey like he was a free salami on the Lower East Side on Christmas Day. 

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?!" he yelled, trying to fight. 

When Dave realized that it was no use to struggle, he took a good look at the people who had him. _ Indians?_ he thought, looking them over. He'd seen drawings of the Plymouth Indians in his textbooks at school. Taking a long, hard look at one of the men, he asked, "Squanto?" 

The man looked at him and laughed. Davey shrugged. "Guess not." 

The group took Davey all the way to the Indian camp, where they tied him to the totem pole with strips of leather. "Hey! Let me down!" Davey yelled. 

"Relax!" a young boy yelled. 

Davey looked at him, more than just alarmed. "WHY?!" 

"They think you're a god. We are inducting you into the tribe of the Wakkawakka Indians," he answered back. 

"This is not funny!" Davey cried. "I want to go home! I want my Momma!" 

Dave looked down at the men. "Hey, could you let me down? I've got that wooden bird's beak rammed - " 

"Silence!" the man, whom Davey presumed to be the cheif, commanded. 

Davey looked at him. "Huh?" 

The boy said, "They are going to give you a name." 

For a moment, the cheif stared at Davey. "Your name... Boy With Mouth Like Roaring River." 

Dave rolled his eyes. At home, they called him "The Walkin' Mouth". Here, he was "Boy With Mouth Like Roaring River". _Just my rotten luck,_ he thought. 

The Indians crowded around him to take him down off the totem pole. Rubbing his rear end, Davey waddled over to the boy who had spoken to him earlier. "Hi, my name's David - er, Boy With Mouth Like Roaring River. Who are you?" 

"How," the boy greeted. "My name is Croaking Duck." 

A little girl joined the two. Croaking Duck motioned to her. "This is my little sister, Quacking Frog." 

Davey stifled laughter as he greeted them. "It's nice to meet both of you." 

"Where are you from? What are you wearing?" Croaking Duck asked Davey. 

"I'm from New York City, and these are called _ clothes_," Davey said, pointing at himself. 

"New York City? I've never heard of that tribe," Croaking Duck said thoughtfully. 

"That's because it isn't a tribe...it's a city," David answered patiently. 

"City?" 

"You'll find out one of these days." 

At that moment, the cheif called Davey over to the bonfire, where the whole village was gathered. "Boy With Mouth Like Roaring River," he began, "you a god to us. Smokum peace pipe?" 

Cheif handed the elaborate pipe to Davey. "Sure, why not?" he muttered, taking a puff. 

He coughed hard as he passed the pipe to Croaking Duck. "That's a symbol of peace? More like a symbol of 'I want to choke you to death'!" he sputtered. 

The cheif caught this and stood up angrily. "You no likeum peace pipe? You no likeum a good smokum?!" 

Davey tried to reply, but Cheif picked him up by the collar of his shirt. "YOU NO LIKEUM PEACE PIPE?!" 

"Yes - no!! I mean, I loved it, Chief, your highness, your grace - you're gonna kill me, aren't you?" 

The cheif put Davey down. "No, you learnum rain dance!" 

"Rain dance?" Davey asked pitifully, looking to Croaking Frog for help. 

Croaking Frog just grinned and shrugged as several of the Indians dragged Davey over and slapped a headband adorned with a feather on his head. They then took his shoes away and made him wear soft leather moccasins. 

Learning the rain dance was not easy for Davey, for he had never been much of a dancer. So, he ended up tuck-jumping around the campfire in circles, his fists balled up, flapping his arms (*a/n* See "Seize the Day"). 

After the rain dance (which they didn't really need since it had been raining already), the cheif led Davey over to a tent. "Now, Boy With Mouth Like Roaring River, you get married." 

Davey's eyes widened. "WHAT?!" 

"Marry my daughter, Barking Cow," he commanded, shoving Davey into the tent. 

Dave spotted a very tall, very _large_ young woman standing beside a medicine man. "Ah!!!" she exclaimed, jumping on Davey and nearly smothering him. "Momma," he choked, struggling to free himself from her fierce embrace. 

When he had done so, he ran out of the tent and smack into the cheif. "Done so fast?" 

Davey stammered, "No, I was, actually, I was just going to get - " 

"You no likeum Barking Cow?" 

"Yes, she's...breathtaking!" 

"YOU NO LIKEUM DAUGHTER?!" 

"YES I LIKEUM DAUGHTER!" Davey yelled back. At that point, he didn't care that his father had taught him not to lie. This was a life-or-death situation. 

"You marry Barking Cow, or I send you to Happy Hunting Ground with all her other suitors!" 

If it had not been for the fact that Davey had already done so, he would have soiled his pants again. He let the cheif shove him back into the tent. 

As the medicine man started the wedding ceremony, Dave started whispering to himself. 

"I'm too young to get married! I can't marry this girl! I've got things to do, places to see, people to meet! I don't know how I got here, or why I got here, or who put me here, but please, take me back! Please! TAKE ME BACK!" 

******* 

***DISCLAIMER***  
Please don't get angry that Indians are mentioned in this segment of the story. I made up the tribal name Wakkawakka so as not to offend any actual Native American tribes. Having Cherokee blood myself, I most definately DO NOT view Native Americans in this light. This segment is only comical and not meant to offend. Thank you. 


	3. Spoticus Maximus

Spoticus Maximus

*Spoticus Maximus*  
-Kora- 

A rough hand grabbed Spot by the collar and jerked him awake. "Move out of the way, kid!" Spot was flung harshly to the side, all of this in the first 15 seconds after waking up. Rubbing his neck, Spot stood and gaped at his surroundings. He was standing in the alleyway of what appeared to be a city, but all of the buildings were made out of some sort of stone that Spot couldn't quite remember the name of. All of the people walking around (on cobblestone streets, no less, though the alley was nothing more than dirt) were wrapped in big white sheets for clothing. 

Marching away from him was a group of...could it be soldiers? They had on metal helmets, plates on their chests, and guards on their arms and legs. They carried big metal shields, spears, and there were red feather things on their helmets. It looked like they were wearing red skirts. Spot shuddered at the thought. One of them, who's feather plume was larger than the rest, was barking out orders. From his voice, Spot identified him as the man who had pushed him aside. Making a mental note to confront that one about that once he'd figured out what was going on, Spot stepped out onto the street. 

For hours, Spot wandered around the streets of this strange city. By the time the sun was high in the sky, Spot had decided that he must be in some sort of inferior civilization. These people spoke with some sort of weird English, their accents resembling those from Little Italy, were obviously so dumb that they couldn't figure out that metal and sheets were not clothing, and Spot didn't even want to get into that Vomitorium idea. Plus, everyone looked at him like he had 3 heads! Honestly, what did they have against Brooklyn...besides, he was Spot Conlon, no one treated him like he was inferior. Finally, Spot noticed a sight that made his jaw drop open in awe. 

There, in the center of a square, carved painstakingly out of a lump of that stone - marble, that was it, was a man. The realism was amazing. He stood regally, one arm outstretched, the other folded across his chest. As Spot studied this sculpture, the face in the stone began to transform. Soon, it was a face that Spot knew and loved. His own. Yes, that was much better. Sandaled feet, royal robes, laurel wreath adorning his head...the only adjustment that needed to be made were the eyes. They required a bit of paint so everyone could bask in his gorgeous orbs and argue for years upon years about what color they really were. 

Spot was snapped out of his daydream when he noticed the inscription on the statue. Slowly, the face returned to the original. "Emperorah Diocletian, 285 A.D." Spot read aloud. All mental registration of the date was forgotten as Spot was filled with rage. Who was this Diocletian, and who did he think he was, having statues of himself made? He was NOTHING compared to the awesomness of the mighty Spot Conlon, high Overlord of Brooklyn! Spot decided that it was time to seek out this Diocletian and show him a thing or two. 

"Ey you!" he called, pointing to the person nearest him. "Wheah can Ise find Diocletian?" The man stared at Spot, fully taken aback. Then a crack in his visage came, followed by another. Soon, the man was smiling - no - laughing at him! How dare he! Spot was about to stomp up and wallop the infidel for such an disrespect when a certain cry pricked his ears. 

"Come one, come all! All who thinks he is daring, brave, and strong, come and sign up to be a gladiator! Show off your splendor before the Emperor!" Spot perked - this was more like it. Here was the perfect chance to show this Emperor who the real head honcho was. Spot marched through the streets until he found the source of the beckoning voice. When he arrived, Spot found himself faced with a giant stone structure. This one was not marble, but it was fabulously impressive none the less. It vaguely reminded Spot of the Sheepshead Races; from the inside, the shouts and yells of an excited crowd emanated. 

There was a line of men who had responded to the gladiator challenge. Normally, Spot would have shoved his way to the front, but there were some things that he wanted to think over, so he tolerated the wait. 'Foist off, Ise needs a good name,' he thought to himself. 'All these othah guys gots fancy names and I need somethin'...ah,' Spot snapped his fingers. 'That's it. Spoticus Maximus. Sounds like all the othah guys' names, but it's got a special ring ta it.' Finally, it was Spot's turn in line. The Gladiator Recruitment Officer (they had those back the, ya know *wink*) stared at Spot for a second before guffawing. 

"And who might you be?" he asked in a grumbling voice after calming. 

Spot drew himself up to his full height. "Spoticus Maximus." 

The man shook his head and made a rumbling sound, like he was trying to suppress a laugh. "You want me to let you--some strange, little boy from a strange country by your speech and dress--be a gladiator?" 

Spot recognized the insult in this pudgy man's words, and he would not stand for it. "Lissen heah," he growled, eyes flashing. "I ain't little, and I ain't no boy. I could whip any of the so-called 'men' ya got signin' up heah, so I SUGGEST that ya let me in befoah I gotta get mean." 

When Spot was done, he gave the lesser-life-form his Spot Conlon: Leader of Brooklyn glare. No one could stand against the horrific intensity of his all-powerful glower. Wonder of all wonders, the man appeared unaffected. Smacking his lips, the rumbling sound flared in his chest again. 

"Whatever you say, little man. But don't you worry, I have the perfect place for someone as grand," there went that rumble, "as you." He handed Spot a folded piece of paper. "Take this, and go that way." Scowling, Spot followed the man's pointing finger. He knew that the man was making fun of him...pat...patronizing, that was what the Mouth called it. But Spot didn't have the time to beat the large, grumbling man down. He needed to find Diocletian as soon as possible, and save his strength. Even the glorious Spoticus Maximus needed to conserve his strength. 

Spot strutted towards the entrance to the bit stone arena that the man had been indicating. There was another man, this one taller and leaner, guarding the door. "Welcome to the Coliseum," he proclaimed when Spot approached. The Brooklyn leader gave the guard the piece of paper. The guard snorted, but directed Spot inside. Inside. A very interesting place. Spot was ushered through many rooms as various measurements of his were taken. Armor was slapped onto him, and a sword and spear thrust into his hands. At the end of all of the flurry, Spot was thrown into a little room, resembling a holding cell, with a door to outside. There were a few others in the room with him. 

"Ey, 'ey!" he hollered, "what's going on?!" 

Another young man around his age, who was standing beside Spot, answered in a quivering voice, "We're waiting for our turn out in the Coliseum." 

Spot adjusted his breast plate. "Coliseum?" 

The boy nodded, and jerked his thumb towards the outside. "Yeah. Out there." He extended a hand, "I'm Salmoneus." 

Spot hesitated for a moment, not sure whether or not to spit into his palm. Figuring that this boy wouldn't know that that meant, Spot stuck out a dry hand in return. "Spoticus." 

To Spot's surprise, Salmoneus clasped Spot's forearm in some sort of weird shake. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Spoticus. If only we had longer to commune." 

Spot was about to reply when he heard his name being called. Nodding to Salmoneus, Spot stepped forward. The crowd split in the middle to let him pass. Spot followed the sound of his name until he was outside. It was all that he could do not to faint in awe. There he was, in the center of the largest arena he had ever been in (though he'd never been in an arena before, but this was bigger than he'd ever imagined.) He was surrounded by a roaring crowd, about the size of New York City's population, seated up in the stands. 

Spot barely had time to regain his composure when he heard footsteps behind him. If it was possible for his mouth to catch any more flies than it already was, it did so now. For behind him was a woman, like he'd never seen before. A tall woman with raven black hair and entrancing blue eyes. She was dressed in a strange combination of leather and metal. A sword rested in a scabbard on her back, and a metal Frisbee thing hung on a belt at her side. When Spot regained the power of speech, he demanded, "Who're ya?" 

The corner's of the woman's mouth curved upwards in a mysterious smile. "I'm your opponent." 

Spot scoffed, "Youse kiddin' me, right? I ain't fightin' no woman!" 

The woman's face darkened in anger as she whipped out her sword. "Don't talk. Fight!" 

Reacting quickly - just quick enough - Spot drew his sword and scarcely blocked each of her wild attacks. It didn't take long for Spot to realize that he was outmatched. With a sword, anyway. It wasn't fair. He hadn't gotten any practice time. Besides, swords and spears weren't real weapons. If he had his cane and slingshot, this insolent woman would be defeated by now. Deciding upon a different course of action, Spot dropped his sword and rushed to the other side of the arena. 

The woman stopped and stared after him, amused, like a cat playing with a mouse before descending for the kill. Spot raised his spear and was preparing to throw it at his adversary when she tossed the metal thing from her belt at him. It zipped through the air, collided with his spear, broke in clean in half, kept going, crashed against the side of the arena, bounced back, and in one swift motion the woman caught it. 

"Hey!" Spot yelled. "What's with the round killing thing?!" For an answer, the woman took a few running steps towards him, then launched herself off the ground in a stunning flip. 

"Ay-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi!" She landed right in front of Spot and confronted him with her sword. Frantically, Spot tried to ward her off with what was left of his spear, but that didn't last long. The woman slashed right through it, and with a rapid kick from her, Spot was on the ground. Heart thudding, Spot gazed around him at the crowd. They were cheering extensively, giving a thumbs-down. Spot wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but he knew that it wasn't a good thing. Not for him, anyway. 

And there, above him, sword pointed at his chest, was the woman. Her eyes glittered in anticipation. "Noooo!!!" Spot screamed, "nooo!!!" Ise don't know how I came ta be heah and why Ise heah, but please take me home! Please! Ise beggin' ya!" 

~~~ 

_ hey! kora here. hope you liked that chapter. sugar to anyone who reviews, and extra to whoever can figure out who spot's opponent was. if you know who she is, and you're a fan, please don't get mad at me for making her out to be mean! i'm a diehard fan too! but this is a parody, and parodies poke fun..._


	4. Blink Like An Egyptian

Blink Like An Egyptian

*Blink Like An Egyptian*  
-Monkey-

Kid Blink woke up to pokes and prods. Clearing the blur from his eye - eyes?! - Blink squinted his bad eye against the blinding light, which in reality was only a dimly-lit..._cavern?_

Only coming halfway to his senses, Blink looked around at the almost primitive dark-skinned men who stood around him holding ceramic jars. One man held Blink's eyepatch in his hand and chanted strange words from a scroll that another man had held open in front of him. 

"'Ey...what is this, huh?" Blink asked as the men stopped what they were doing to gawk at this strange boy. 

"By Isis, he's awake! I thought the mixture we gave him would keep him sleeping until we improved upon him," the man who had been reading the scroll said. 

"_Improved_ 'pon me? Whaddya mean?" Blink asked. Boy, he was really confused now. 

The scroll-reading man answered, "Your eye was covered. We were going to replace it with the eye of the dearly departed Pharoah." 

"WHAT?! I don' need no eye replacement!" Blink exclaimed, jumping up off the table and snatching his eyepatch from the man. "Where'm I at, anyway?" 

"Egypt, and my name is..." The scroll man introduced himself with a name that Blink could not pronounce, let alone remember. 

"How'd I get here?" Blink asked. 

He looked around at the six men in the room with him. They all shrugged. Suddenly, Blink was very curious about the ceramic jars that the Egyptians held in their hands. "What're those for?" 

"Entrails, my friend," Scroll Man answered. 

"I'm not even gonna ask what that means," Blink muttered to himself. Speaking louder, he asked, "So, how do I get outta here?" 

"Cross the desert," another man answered him. 

"Th' dessert? Don't sound so bad...hey, is it chocolate pie? I can eat ten a' those in five minutes!" Blink exclaimed, his mouth watering. 

"No, no, the _desert_," Scroll Man answered. "Look outside and see for yourself." 

Blink timidly crossed the dim chamber and stuck his head out a door. What he saw was a vast amount of sand, and the blast of warm air that slapped him in the face was more than enough to convince him that he'd rather just stay in Egypt. 

Turning back into the cavern, Blink started wandering around, exploring to the amusement of the Egyptians. Seeing a big box (at least that's what Blink thought it was), he lifted the lid and screamed. There was a mummy inside. 

"WHAT IS THAT THING?!" 

"That...is our Pharoah. May Isis and Osiris rest his soul," Scroll Man answered with a solemn tone to his voice. 

"What, cantcha bring 'im back to life or somethin'? 'Cause, I mean, ya already took out all th' important stuff. You could kill one 'a these guys here and use his...whatever ya called 'em...to bring the Pharoah there back t' life," Blink said to them. 

Suddenly, Scroll Man got a malicious grin on his face. "Why take one of our own when there are plenty of strangers to this land?" 

Blink shrugged. "Well, I dunno why ya'd wanna kill one 'a the tourists, but - wait, ya don't mean ME, do ya? Ya can't poss'bly!" As Scroll Man and the others advanced toward him slowly, Blink started backing away. "Naw, c'mon, guys, I got papes ta sell. Why d'ya want a guy like me? I ain't even - whoa, boy." 

Blink started running as fast as he could, circling around the cavern with the Egyptians following him. He ducked behind a sarcophagus, threw the kenobic jars at his pursuers, but nothing seemed to distract them from their main goal: catching Blink. 

Running out the door, Blink discovered that it was hard to run fast on sand. Fortunately for him, he was fast enough to reach the city of Hamunaptra, which was only a few leagues away from the cavern. Turning, Blink saw that the men were still in pursuit, so he started running aimlessly again, eventually running head-on into an Egyptian girl. She grinned at him. "Oh, boy," he thought as she took hold of his arm and tried to kiss him. 

The men caught up as Blink was yelling, "Get her off me! Get her off me!" They did. 

The Egyptian men dragged the kicking, screaming Blink back to the cavern. All the while, Blink begged. "Please, whoever sent me here, I'm sorry for whatever I did! I'm sorry I din't clean up my bunk like Kloppman ast! I'm sorry I ripped up those papes during th' strike! I'm sorry...hey, what else can I be sorry for? I'm SORRY! PLEASE, take me back!" 

******* 

Hallo, Monkey here. You know the drill: this section of the story is not meant to offend any ancient Egyptians that might be hanging around on this site. Truthfully, it was difficult to make this part comical for some reason, so don't sue me if you didn't laugh. I understand. :-D Okay, I need sleep... 


	5. Mush by Norsewest

*Mush by Norsewest*  
--Kora--

******* 

A thunderous roar followed by a sickening clash of steel against steel swarmed Mush's ears, causing him to wake with a sharp gasp. Immediately, the cold hit him like a runaway carriage into a fruit stand. Mush wrapped his arms around himself, shivering violently, and took note of his surroundings. First off: it was snowing. This puzzled Mush to no end, because he thought that it was supposed to be summer. And what had happened to the bunkroom--for that matter, his bunk? All he could see was a dense forest off to the side, and a thick carpet of snow. Directly in from of him were a bunch of worn-looking wooden buildings. Coming from one of the larger buildings were the grunts and groans, clangs and wild cries of a ferocious fight. 

Suddenly, there was a great crash and a burly man soared through a newly-made hole in the building's wall, sending wooden splinters flying in all directions. Mush dodged the wood bullets and watched the action scene with growing interest. Another large man stepped through the gap and confronted the first man. Both men looked quite similar: big, burly, bundled in furs (Mush pulled his shirt tighter around himself enviously), with skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair - all pale. They carried fantastic weapons with them: massive swords and crushing axes. Mush shivered again, though this time not from cold. 

With a vicious bellow, the second man lunged at the first, and with deafening clangs, they went at it again. Mush continued to watch them for awhile, but eventually he couldn't stand the cold any longer. Slowly he crept towards the buildings, hoping to sneak past the impressive show of skill and strength. As Mush inched away however, the two fighters stopped hammering each other. With heaving pants, they congratulated each other. 

"That was a good go, Jokull." 

"Ya, ya," the other one, Hodbrodd, replied. "A great way to get the blood pumping in the morning." They laughed, then spat into their palms and shook. 

'Hodbrodd and Jokull?' Mush thought to himself. 'What kinda names is those? Where am I? They's spit shook...does that they're newsies? They's too big for newsies, maybe they just used ta be.' Mush then crept up to the two friends. "Uh...excuse me?" Hodbrodd and Jokull immediately stopped what they were doing and focused on Mush. The former elbowed the latter. 

"Well, Jokull, what do we have here?" Jokull strode up to Mush and inspected him. 

"I do not know, Hodbrodd. He certainly looks too small for a Viking." 

'Too small?' Mush thought. 'I thought I was one of the biggest newsies...and what's a Viking?' "Ise Mush, a newsie," he spat into his palm and held it out to Jokull. A wide grin spread around Jokull's beard as he did the same and clasped Mush's hand. 

"Mush, a newsie, eh? I've never heard of a newsie, but you have the greeting of a fine warrior. This 'newsie'...you must be from a far-off village." Hodbrodd joined Jokull next to Mush. 

"This is all well and good, but our young friend looks like he be fit to turn blue." True enough, Mush had momentarily forgotten about the cold, but as soon as Hodbrodd mentioned it, Mush was freezing. 

"Oh, aye, Hoddbrodd," Jokull agreed. "Let's take Mush inside and fill him with good food and drink. Then he can assist us in our quest." Mush was curious as to what Jokull meant by "quest", but he figured any questions could wait until he was warm and had a full stomach. 

The Vikings led Mush to another one of the larger buildings in the square. There they stuffed him with many strange foods and tried to pour foreign drinks down his throat. Mush wouldn't allow that, because every mug they shoved at him reeked of things he didn't even want to think about. Jokull and Hodbrodd instead melted snow for him to drink. Overstuffed, Mush sat back in his chair and dozed off. Jokull and Hodbrodd had left just a bit earlier, promising to return once "everything" was prepared. In a few moments, they did come back. Hodbrodd pulled Mush out of his chair. 

"Ah, no, young Mush. Now it not the time for napping. We are about to embark upon our quest. Before Mush could say "pape", he was wrapped in furs, given a battle-ax, and thrown onto a weird-looking wooden boat with a monster's head carved at the front. Mush didn't know how long he was on that ship. It's hard to keep track of time when you're hanging your head over the side of a ship, revisiting your breakfast. 

About the time Mush was sure that there wasn't anything left in his stomach, the ship came to a halt. Mush was loaded with about 4 others, including Jokull, into a little boat. "What are we doin'?" Mush whispered to Jokull. 

"Attacking a neighboring village," the Viking replied, barely able to contain his excitement. "We grew tired of simple village life, so we deiced to sack the neighboring Viking village!" he ended his sentence with an anticipatory smack of a fist into his hand. Mush gulped hard as the rowboat hit shore and everyone pilled out. The Vikings did not waste any time. As soon as their feet hit soil, they whipped out their weapons and charged screaming into the rival Viking village. 

It didn't take long at all for the other Vikings to respond with their own massive attack. Mush was still processing all that was going on when he spotted an enemy Viking stampeding towards him. The newsie's limbs were paralyzed with fear. As he watched the Viking rush towards him, sword waving in the air, all Mush could get to work were his vocal chords. A cry ripped from his throat. "HEEEELLLLPPP! Somebody, anybody! Please! I'll stop repeating jokes ovah and ovah again, I promise! Jack! Someone! Please, take me home!!" 

******* 

_ Disclaimer: _

If there are any Vikings that happen to read this, please don't be insulted. This is a parody and everyone is getting poked fun at. Also, I got the spit-shake idea from Rosemary Suttcliff's retelling of the Norse epic Beowolf. Two Viking characters actually spit-shook. I did a double-take when I read that. Anyhew, just thought you might wanna know that.


	6. Cowboy the Dragon-Slayer

*Cowboy the Dragon-Slayer*  
-Monkey-

******* 

Jack Kelly woke up covered in mud and rain. It took him a moment to realize that the street he was lying on was nothing but gooey muck. Sitting up, he surveyed his surroundings. 

The road Jack was sitting on was fairly narrow, and it ran through a small village made up mostly of muck-and-straw huts. Several onlookers had crowded near Jack, staring. He stared right back. The villagers wore close to rags, their faces smeared with grime and filth. A few of them were barefoot. Terribly thin, they looked like they hadn't had a meal in months. _Reminds me of home_, Jack thought to himself. 

After a moment, Jack picked himself up and cautiously walked over to the villagers. "Hiya, I'm Jack Kelly. Any youse know where I can wash me clothes an' get a bath? I don' mind payin' a couple bits fer used water, so long as I get cleaned up." 

For a minute, the small group stared at Jack. A man, looking around age fifty, suddenly got a spark in his eyes. "Meat." 

"Yeah, come to think of it, I'd like somethin' to eat, too," Jack said, more to himself than the people. 

The man seized Jack roughly. "MEAT!" 

"Hey, now wait a - " 

It was then that it dawned on Jack: these people were starving, and he was a foreigner. Upon this realization, Jack wrenched himself away from the man and started running aimlessly. He kept running until he ran smack into the hind end of a horse, hitting the ground with a sickening splat. 

"Owwww," Jack groaned, rolling around on the ground in pain. 

The horse's rider turned the horse to face Jack. "Having sight problems, lad?" 

Jack opened one eye to look up at the man. He was gangly, with long, graying hair, deep-set gray eyes, and unusually pronounced cheekbones that were even more so since his face was thin. The man had the look of a knight; he was wearing chain mail with a faded scarlet cloak draped over his shoulders and chest that bore his emblem, a lion standing on its hind legs and clutching a viper in one paw. 

"N-n-no, ah, uh, where am I anyway?" Jack stammered, hastily picking himself up from the mud. 

"Are you mad? This is England, God save our King," the man said, bowing his head humbly at the mention of the King. 

"Whoa, wait. How'd I get in England? I went to sleep in Manhattan, how the heck did I end up here?" Jack asked, becoming panicked. 

The knight looked at Jack with scrutiny. "What Manhattan do you speak of, boy? Surley I know of no such place." 

"It's 1899, dimwit, everybody knows about New Yawk!" 

Squinting, the knight replied, "1899? Ah, no, but 'tis the year of our Lord, 1231. And what is this...New Yawk...you speak of?" 

Jack's eyes widened. Boy, Kloppman's dinner of pork and beans HAD done a number on him! "I think I'm gonna be sick." 

"Nothing uncommon. These streets are nearly made completely of vomit and waste. Quite revolting, I must say," the knight said, wrinkling his nose. 

"That's it," Jack said, "I really am gonna be sick." 

"No time, lad, for I have chosen you for a mission." 

"Wha?" Jack asked, turning slightly green. 

"Yes, lad, a mission. You see, I hunt and kill dragons for sport." 

"Dragons?" Jack choked. 

Rolling his eyes, the knight replied, "Yes, dragons. What did you think I hunted? Goats? Wombats? Anyway, I am climbing the age ladder, so to speak, and I need a young apprentice to kill the dragons for me. I will pay you, of course, but you must let me take all the credit!" 

Jack looked at the man like he was crazy. "I don't even know your name, and youse askin' me to kill dragons fer ya?" 

"Oh! I do apologize. I am Sir Heinekin." 

"That's a beer." 

"No, that's my name. Sir Albert Windsor Abu Heinekin." 

"Abu?" 

Sir Heinekin glared at Jack. "Ask no questions." 

Jack nodded, wary of this Abu fellow. 

"Come with me," Sir Heinekin commanded. He whipped his horse and sped off, leaving Jack standing there, covered in mud, wondering how he was supposed to follow. 

After a moment, Sir Heinekin returned. Sheepishly, he muttered. "Dreadfully sorry about that, lad." 

Nodding, Jack hopped up onto the horse behind the knight, and the knight once again sped off. The ride was bumpy, and several times Jack thought that he would be thrown from the horse. But, the knight finally pulled the horse to a stop, and the two dismounted. 

"There he is," Sir Heinekin breathed. "The dragon." 

And indeed, it was a dragon. He stood proudly atop a cliff in all his majesty, his head proudly raised and his chest puffed out. "Wouldja look at that..." Jack breathed. 

"Now," Sir Heinekin said, shoving a sword and shield into Jack's hands, "go kill him." 

"But I - " 

"GO!!!" 

Very reluctantly, Jack turned and slowly headed toward the dragon. It was not until Sir Heinekin took to him with the horse whip that he sped up. 

When he reached the bottom of the cliff, Jack looked up at the dragon. "Hey, you! Dragon there! Hey, ya mind comin' on down here so's I can kill ya?" 

The dragon looked down at Jack and snorted, tendrils of fire shooting out of his nostrils. Jack, his voice cracking, called up, "Yeah, fight fire with fire, as I always say! C'mon, dragon! I ain't scared 'a youse! I beat Pulitzer! Yeah, that's right! I - oh, mama!" 

Jack scrambled away as the dragon swooped down toward him, claws bared. It finally caught Jack up in an uncomfortable grasp. "Help! Hey, Abu - beer man! Hey! Help me! Can't ya see I'se 'bout to get torched by a dragon here?" Looking in vain for help, Jack started begging. "Please, whoever put me in this mess, get me out! I wanna go home! I'll stop wishing for Santa Fe 'cause goodness knows Manhattan's better than England! Please! I wanna go home! Ain't no place like home!" 

******* 

*DISCLAIMER*

_ All right, I admit it: the "meat" part of the story is not my own original idea. I was inspired by the movie __Dragonheart_. :-D But the rest of it is mine. Hope you enjoyed it! 


	7. The Great Wall Of Racetrack

*The Great Wall of Racetrack*  
-Kora- 

Race's first coherent thought after drifting off to sleep was that there must be a fight going on outside, for what else could be cuasing such racket in the middle of the night? He forced himself awake; he'd been having such a good drea, too, he was at a nation-wide horse race and was on a winning streak! Race opened bleary eyes only to have them widen tenfold. 

How did he get to Chinatown? It was blocks and blocks away from the Lodging House, through a series of twisting streets and dark alleys. Race knew for a fact that none of his Manhattan buddies could find their way to Chinatown, especially at night. So it couldn't be Blink trying to get him back for that little poker incident a few nights before. No, there must be some other explanation. 

Shrugging, Race decided that there was no good in just standing here. He dusted off his pants and made his way out to the streets. After wandering aimlessly for what seemed like hours, Race finally admitted to himself that he was hopelessly lost. Race aknowledged that his knowledge of Chinatown georgraphy was minimal, but he would have thought that he could at least find his way out. 

Race manuvared around the crowd, all dressed in authentic ancient Chinese garb, or so Race guessed. 'Must be some sorta holiday,' he mused. 'Mebbe New Year's. I think they celebrate New Yeah diff'rent than we do." Gazing around, Race spotted someone clothed like a soldier. He looked like he would be able to help Race. 

The newsie pushed to where the soldier was standing and tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, Mister," the soldier turned wide eyes on Race. "Do ya think ya could point me in the direction--" 

"FOREIGNER!" the man accused, pointing an indignant finger at Race. 

"Pardon me?" Race asked, not liking the sound of the soldier's voice. It made him nervous. 

"Foreigner!" the soldier cried again. "Foreigner in the Forbidden City!" The crowd stopped and stared at the soldier's words, horrified. Little old ladies placed withered hands over open, agast mouths. Children cowered in fear behind mothers' skirts. Race fought the urge to paniac as he loosened his collar. It was suddenly very hot. 

"Uh, ya know what?" he told the soldier. "On second thought, I think I can get back to Manhattan on my own." He made an attempt to slink away, but the soldier grabbed his arm. 

"Halt! Foreginer! No foreigners allowed to enter Forbidden City and live!" 

"What?!" Race squeaked. "Wha--" he was yanked painfullly from his place and dragged after the soldier. The next moments were a blur as Race tried desperately to figure out who he had offended. Before he could process what was happening, Race was marched to an strangely-built yet intricate and beautiful palace, pulled down stairs to the basement, thrown into a dank, dirty cell, then escourted out of the cell only a few moments later. 

Race was shoved roughly onto the floor. He looked up and was dazzled by the glimmering brilliance of everything around him. Red and gold were the dominant colors, but jade and ivory were prominent as well. Up, high up, seated on a massive and magnificent throne was a rather small man. Yet, there was a certain regal majesty emanating from his personage that made up for his size. Faced with all this splendor, Race could do naught but cower. 

"Why is this stranger brought before me?" boomed the man on the throne, presumably some sort of king. The soldier whom had arrested Race bowed nervously and in a quivering voice answered, 

"This is a foreigner, found in the Forbidden City. By the law of Qin, he must be executed." The man narrowed his eyes at Race. Finally, he replied, 

"We are in need of more workers on the Great Wall. Take the infidel there." All the while, Race had been lying on the ground, face smushed against the floor. When he heard his fate, he began whimpering. 

"Execute? What? For sleeping in a Chinatown alley? Work on WHAT? The Great Wall? But how? I-don't-" Race couldn't complete his sentence because he was grabbed again, this time by the collar, and roughly hauled outside the palace. He was pushed into a carriage, where he hit his head on the wall and was knocked unconscious. 

*** 

Race's muscles screamed as he picked up another newly-made block and slapped it down on top of the previous. Moaning pitifully to himself, Race thrust his hands into the freezing mud and mixed them around to form another brick. For 30 hours (actually, it was more like 30 minutes, but Race didn't take hard labor well), he had been laboring away at this horrible and deathly task. 

Abruptly, Race stopped what he was doing, on the verge of collapsing. "Help!" he cried weakly. "Someone, help! I can't take this anymore! Let me back! I won't steal any more cigars! I won't game again for as long as I live! (an: coughsputtercoughyeahrightcoughsputtercough) Just let me go home, pleeeeaseee!!!" 

***

_ Disclaimer: no offense meant to anyone who is Chinese, particularly ancient Chinese. _


	8. Caveman Crutchy

*Caveman Crutchy*  
-Monkey-

******* 

Crutchy, who had been sleeping very peacefully, awoke to see a circle of filthy, dirt-smeared faces above him. _Must be new newsies,_ he thought, and he put on his most jovial face and chirped, "Heya, fellas, howya doin'? Huh? Huh?" 

The strange men began looking back and forth at one another, communicating through a series of grunts. Crutchy looked at them funny and reached out for his crutch, which was lying a few feet away from him. Picking it up, he pulled himself into a standing position; this is when he finally took notice of his surroundings. 

He had been lying on soft, albeit sparse, grass. Where there wasn't grass, there was dirt and dust. The sky was an organeish-yellow hue. There was a mountain range that began behind where Crutchy stood, and at the base of these mountains were scattered several caves. Several trees were scattered throughout the plane where he stood, but it was mostly ground and sky. 

"Heya, fellas, can you point me in the way of the nearest train station?" Crutchy asked them in a very friendly manner. 

The biggest man grunted and took hold of Crutchy's shirt, lifting him at least three feet off the ground. "Grr grr arg ugh! Arg uh! Uhg ug ug uh! Arg arg." 

Crutchy, thinking that he was in some foreign country, tried to answer the strange man in his native toungue. "Uh uh arg arg....aww, c'mon, put me down!" 

The man and his companions nearly fell over laughing at Crutchy's pathetic attempt at communication. He dropped Crutchy on the ground and continued laughing. 

Suddenly, one of the cavemen grunted to the biggest man frantically, and the big man grabbed Crutchy by the arm and pulled him in the direction that he and the other cavemen were going. "Hey! Where we goin'?" Crutchy asked, a bit alarmed but always ready to try something new. 

"Guh ugg arg!" the caveman answered angrily, and Crutchy shrugged. He'd find out soon enough. 

And he did find out indeed. When the cavemen stopped running, Crutchy's eyes fell upon a field full of boulders. A caveman stood in front of the makeshift entrance with a rock and a small stick. As each caveman that was with Crutchy passed the man, he grunted and the man beside the entrance used the stick to make a mark on the rock. "Ah, it's like checkin' in!" Cructchy exclaimed. 

The biggest caveman, who still had Crutchy by the arm, started to converse with the one at the entrance. "Ugh ugg arg grr." 

The entrance man raised his eyebrows and looked at Crutchy. "Grr ug arg guh urr?" 

"Ugh." 

"Agh arr ugh urr arg arg! Arg guh gah ur ugh!" 

Pointing at Crutchy, the big caveman exclaimed, "Agh ugh ARG! Urg ug?" 

Nodding, the entrance man answered, "Urg ug," and pointed Crutchy in the direction of the field. 

"Well, I guess I'm workin' here, eh?" he asked with a big smile on his face before being pulled along by the big caveman. 

The caveman and Crutchy stopped in front of two large boulders. "Urg agh," the caveman said, motioning for Crutchy to sit down in front of one of the boulders. 

Crutchy complied, puzzled. The big caveman sat down in front of the other boulder and looked to Crutchy. "Ugh arg urg, urg urg grr arg." 

Then, he took a big stick in one hand and a stone in the other. Holding up the rock, he said, "Grr arg urg ugg, grr 'ooga'." Hitting the boulder with the stone, he repeated, "Ooga." 

"Ooga," Crutchy repeated, trying not to show his amusement. 

The caveman then held up the stick. "Arg arr ugh grr arg urg ugg, grr 'chacka'." He hit the boulder with the stick and repeated, "Chaka". 

Crutchy, on the verge of a complete hysterical breakdown, repeated, "Chaka." 

Holding up both stone and stick, he began hitting the boulder with them, and in sequence he chanted, "Ooga, chaka, ooga, chaka," as he hit the boulder with each. 

Making a gesture to Crutchy that he should mimic, the caveman pointed to the ground beside Crutchy, where lay another stick and another stone. Trying not to laugh, Crutchy took hold of each and started beating the life out of the boulder. The caveman growled in anger, making Crutchy stop. Frantically, he grunted, "Grr urr ugh argh agg urg ug! Grr ug, 'Ooga, chaka, ooga chaka'!" 

Taking the hint, Crutchy chanted as he beat the boulder. "Ooga, chaka, ooga, chaka." 

The caveman laughed proudly, watching his young apprentice at work. Then he joined Crutchy and all the other cavemen present in beating and chanting, "Ooga chaka." 

When they got off work at the end of the day, the cavemen took Crutchy back to the largest of all the caves at the foot of the mountain range. There, they all sat on the cold dirt floor in a circle around a pile of brush and wood. Proudly, the big caveman grinned at Crutchy and pointed toward the pile. "Ugh ugg arg grr! Urg agh!" 

He sat down in front of the pile, taking a stick and rubbing it between his hands mercilessly, and finally he ignited a fire. Cheers erupted from the other cavemen. "Fiiiiiirrrrrrrrrre! Fiiiiiiiiire!" 

"Well, 'least they know one word," Crutchy muttered to himself. 

The big caveman pointed to Crutchy. "Ooga-booga!" 

"What?!" Crutchy asked, alarmed at the fact that all the cavemen in the room were advancing toward him. 

Before he could say "Joseph Pulitzer", Crutchy was yanked up and carried high above the group of cavemen. "RAH, guys!" he exclaimed, trying to get down. 

The cavemen laughed at this, especially the big fella. "RAH, guys!" he repeated. 

All the other cavemen thought that this was funny and tried to mimic. Soon, cries of, "RAH, guys!" echoed mercilessly throughout the cave. Crutchy was angry at them for making fun of him, but this was not his only problem. The cavemen appeared to be planning to make him a human sacrifice. 

"OOGA BOOGA!" the big caveman cried as the other cavemen tied Crutchy's arms and legs to an uprooted tree with long pieces of grass. 

Terrified, Crutchy cried, "Please, I dunno who brought me here, but get me out! I don't wanna be a barbeque for a bunch a' cavemen! SOMEBODY GET ME OUT, PLEASE!" 


	9. Yo-Ho-Ho and a Bundle of Les

*Yo-Ho-Ho And a Bundle of Les*  
-Kora-

Les woke, yawned, stretched, and stood. Then he blinked a few times. This wasn't the Lodging House. Where was Jack? Les didn't care if he was in the middle of Antartica, so long as Jack was there. Mumbling, "Jack, Jack, Jack," to himself, Les wandered around the area. 

He stopped in awe. He was at a dock. The ships that floated undisturbed in the harbor looked like something out of his pirate storybooks. Pirates! Les clutched his little wooden sword to his side excitedly when he spied what must be a pirate leap from the rigging to the deck on the largest of the ships. The pirate barely wavered when he hit the deck, even though one of his legs was only a wooden peg. Another pirate, this one fiercely tattooed with a red bandana wraped around his matted hair, appeared from bellow deck. 

"Ahoy One-Legged Jack!" he cried heartily. "The Cap'n wants t'know if you're ready for the extra sail cloth yet!" 

"Aye!" One-Legged Jack replied in a musty vioce. With a nod of his head, the second pirate disappeared. One-Legged Jack chuckled to himself and set about his remaining work. 

From his hiding place behind a stack of barrels on the dock, Les blinked in amazement. "Jack..." he whispered. Without a second thought, Les unstrung the minature copy of Jack's black cowboy hat that he'd taken to wearing and flung it from him. Tightening his grip on his play sword, Les crept closer to the ship that contained his new hero. 

Les was approaching the bride to the ship when another pirate brushed past him on his way up to the ship. The pirate was carrying a big box with a bundle of white sheets--extra sailcloth--inside it. Glancing around, Les spotted another box of sailcloth. He leapt into it and hid under the folded sheets. Here was his chance to become a real pirate! In seconds, Les felt the box that he was hiding in be hefted up by strong arms. 

The pirate grunted in exertion. "These be heavy sheets," the pirate muttered to himself. Les bit his lip as his heart beat faster. His dream was about to be fufilled. Forget cowboys; cowboys don't have swords and ships, cannons and wooden legs. Cowboys don't swashbuckle, or attack merchant ships. Cowboys don't-- 

Les was jerked from his thoughts as the world was turned upside-down, and he came tumbling out of the box, entagled in sheets, onto the deck of the pirate ship. Les extracted himself from the sheets and stood, frozen. There before him stood One-Legged Jack. "Ahoy, what have we here?" the pirate asked wryly. "A boy bundle?" 

Les stared up at him in utter awe. "Wow," he breathed, blinking. "Wow." 

*** 

One-Legged Jack tried to get rid of Les in every way he could think of, but it was impossible. Every attempt made to kick Les off the boat, hurt, or kill him failed misreably, even the tries made to get Les to walk the plank. For Les had attached himself to Jack's leg, and he refused to let go. All the time, Les said, "Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack," in a quiet but annoying voice. 

Finally, the Captain, Long-John Pete, emerged from his cabin to inspect the source of the disturbance. He walked over to Les in an uneven limp, caused by his left leg being longer than the other. Long-John Pete stopped and peered menacingly at the passenger on One-Legged Jack's leg. "Arr," he grumbled. "What have we here?" 

"I don't know, Cap'n," One-Legged Jack replied uneasily, futively shaking his leg. "He came from one o'the boxes o'sheets, and we haven't been able t'get rid of him since." The captain leanded down until he was eye level with Les. The young newsie could feel the pirate captain's rancid breath on his cheek, but nothing would dissuade him from holding on to his idol. 

"And what manor of creature might you be?" Long-John Pete growled to Les. Les paused in his feverently whispered chant of "Jack" to give his name. 

"I'm Les." 

"Les, eh?" Long-John Pete said, straightening. "Well, Les, if ye be so determined to stay aboard the _Sharksbreath_, I won't make ye leave." He smiled evilly, and sent an order to One-Legged Jack through a malicious glance. A crooked, wicked grin crept upon One-Legged Jack's face. 

"Aye, oh, aye, Cap'n." 

*** 

So Les stayed. Unbeknownst to him, he was considered the lowest of the low, even beneath the galley dogs, on the ship. Les enthusiastically set upon his tasks, including swabbing the deck three times a day with a toothbrush and cleaning out the chamber pots. While working, Les cheerfully hummed or sang the song that he had composed, consisting of only two words: "Jack" and the occasional "wow!" Often, a passing pirate's arm or leg would be seized in an uncontrollable spams, and Les got whacked in the head. Les also found himself "accidentally" falling overboard on a regular basis. But Les never minded. Joyous was his life as a pirate's slave and galley dog's chew toy. 

Eventually, the pirates could not take it any more. Every attempt they made to be rid of Les, or at least break his spirit, seemed to enamor him all the more with the pirate life. One day, under the captain's orders, the entire crew of the _Sharksbreath_ assembled on the main deck. Les hop-skipped happily amongst them, singing his "Wow Jack" song and trying to figure out what find of special pirate activity this as by asking a million questions a minute. 

One-Legged Jack and the captain, soon followed by the rest of the crew, dropped to their kneeds in desperation and wrung their hands at the unresponsive sky. "Please! Take him back! Whatever sent the little rodent boy here, take him! We're sorry for being mean to him! We'll give up our lives as pirates, go ashore, and lead peaceful lives of knitting, embroidery, and cheese-making! Just please, TAKE HIM BAAAAACCCKKK!" 


	10. IT HOVERS!

*IT HOVERS!*  
-Monkey and Kora- 

Davey whimpered and braced himself for the sloppy kiss he knew would be coming any minute. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited, but nothing happened. Slowly, he opened one eye, then the other, and was amazed to find that everyone in the room had completely frozen, motionless. Barking Cow was positioned exactly two millimeters from his face; when Davey realized this he almost went into cardiac arrest. 

Davey tried to take a step back from the incredibly unattractive princess, but found that he couldn't go anywhere. Suddenly, there was a flash of light, and when Davey opened his eyes, there was Kloppman - no, Kloppman's _head_ - floating before him. "How 'bout a kiss for the bride?" 

"WAH!" Davey screamed as Kloppman laughed at his little joke. Davey was in shock. "YOU did this to me! Why?!" 

Kloppman made a face that suggested that, if he'd had a body, he was shrugging. "You complained too much, the lot a' youse! I thought I'd teach you a bit of a lesson." 

"What are you? I thought you were just the old man running the lodging house." 

Kloppman laughed. The laugh was a bit sinister, Davey noted. "You got most of it right. I'm just the old _sage_ running the lodging house." 

Davey's eyes widened, but Kloppman cut off his next question. "D'you wanna go home or not?" 

"Please, I'd do anything! Well, not _anything_ b - " 

"All right, all right, I'm convinced," Kloppman's head answered. "Close your eyes." 

Davey did so. Suddenly, he felt himself being pitched forward, and he landed a big sloppy kiss on Barking Cow's lips. Davey opened his eyes and screamed. Kloppman, who was now invisible, laughed uncontrollably. Then, there was a blinding flash of light and a WHOOSH of air, and David Jacobs lost conciousness. 

******* 

Spot squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the blow to come. It never did. There was a strange wooshing sound, and the frenzied cheering of the crowd halted abruptly. His heart pounding, Spot allowed one eyelid to slide up minimally. The warrior woman was poised above him, her sword arm drawn back in preparation for a mighty blow. Yet, she was motionless. Breathing heavily, Spot opened both of his eyes all the way, and took a long look around. Everything wasn't moving. Spot's jaw worked soundlessly when a familiar voice made him spin around. 

"Are you enjoying your new life, oh high overlord Spoticus Maximus?" Spot's eyes widened in shock at what he saw. There was Kloppman...but...it was only his floating head. 

"Kl-Kloppman?" Spot sputtered. The floating Kloppyhead nodded in aknowledgement. 

"Yes, it's me. I sent you here to show you how good you really have it in New York. I was sick of all the whining. Now...if you ask nice enough, I just might let you come back home." Spot fell to his kneeds beside the spectrall, grasping at the air, trying to get ahold of legs that weren't there to grovel at them. 

"Yes! Ise wants ta go home! Back ta Brooklyn! I'll stop complainin, Ise promise! Just please!" Gazing solemnly at Spot's pleading eyes, the floating Kloppyhead nodded gravely. 

"Very well." There was a great white flash of light, and Spot knew no more. 

******* 

Kid Blink was about to be "improved upon" by Ancient Egyptians when suddenly, all movement ceased. Blink, however, was afraid to move, for one of the men held a sharp, pointy object above him. All of a sudden, there was Kloppman's head floating around the cavern. Blink's eyes widened. "Kloppy ol' pal! ...Did they get you too?" 

Kloppman laughed. Strangely enough, it sounded more like an evil laugh than a "You're funny" laugh. "No, Blink, they didn't get me." 

"Where'd yer body go?" Blink asked in amazement. 

"I don't know, actually...ah, well. You, eh...wanted to come home, did ye?" 

A grin broke out on Blink's face. "Yes, please, oh Kloppy yer Highness. I don't wanna be cut apart by these people!" 

"They mean well, Blink, but no one in their right mind wants to be their guinea pig. Very well, if you promise not to complain so much I suppose - " 

"I LOVE YOU, KLOPPMAN!" Blink yelled. "I'll never complain again, I promise!" 

Kloppman smiled. "Very well, then." 

The Floating Kloppyhead uttered a few unintelligible words and Blink disappeared from the Egyptian cavern. 

******* 

Mush was confused. A split second ago, he had been frozen to the ground in both cold and fear. The cold was still here, but the fear was gone. Now, everything around him wasn't moving. Except for Kloppman's head, which hovered in front of him. The only thing that Mush was sure of was that Kloppman meant the Lodging House, which equalled home. 

"Kloppy!" he cried in joy, running to embrace the kindly old man (what there was of him, anyway), but coming up with nothing save an armful of air. The floating Kloppyhead smiled fondly in spite of himself as Mush scratched his head, even more confused now. 

'The poor boy's just a tad slow,' he thought. 'It's hard to stay angered with him for long.' 

"Don't worry, Mush," he stated. "I think you've learned your lesson here. I've come to take you home." The delighted grin that spread across Mush's face, like a little boy facing a mountain of presents on Christmas morning, made the trip to this gods-forsaken ice cube of a wasteland worth it all for Kloppman. If he had his entire body here with him, he would have rumpled the newsboy's hair affectionately. "Close your eyes," he instructed gently, "and count to ten. Then open them, and you'll be home." 

Mush did so eagerly. As he closed his eyes, he caught a glimpse of a shining flash of light before everything went black. 

******* 

Jack squirmed in the iron grip of the deadly fire-breathing dragon. It stared at him with a look that clearly said, "Finger-lickin' good!" If Jack hadn't been held so tightly by the dragon's talons, he would have curled up into the fetal position and sucked his thumb. 

The dragon gave Jack a parting look and shot a red-hot column of fire at him. Jack braced himself for the burn, but after a moment he was startled to realize that the fire had stopped advancing toward him, and was now suspended in mid-air. "How the heck..." 

Suddenly, there was the floating head of Kloppman, hovering above Jack. "KLOPPMAN! I LOVE YOU! GET ME OUTTA HERE!" 

"Hold yer horses, Kelly," the head answered, trying to hide his amused look. 

"Oh, please, Klop, get me outta this mess. I don't wanna be supper for no dragon. Please," Jack begged, his eyes pleading. 

"You promised you'd stop wishing for Santa Fe. Does that mean I don't have to loan ye no more money fer them stupid Western Jim pamphlets?" 

"Sure, Kloppman, anything you want! Just please don't let it get me!" Jack cast a frightened look upward at the dragon's face. 

"Very well. On the count of three. One. Two. Th - " 

Everything went black. 

******* 

Race weakly lifted his head. A few minutes ago, after calling out for help, he had collasped from sheer exhaustion. He could have drifted off to slight right then, but the guard surely would have set upon him with the whip. Yet, after waiting in fatigue-induced apathy, the guard did not come. Moreover, the sound of strained grunts and heavy blocks being slapped onto hardened blocks had disappeared. 

Race opened his eyes after lifting his head. Hovering above him was Kloppman's slightly transparent head. Race groaned and flopped back down dejectedly in the dirt. "This work really is gettin ta my head," he moaned. The floating kloppyhead smiled mischievously and spoke in a booming voice. "I am the great sage Kloppersus. You made a bargin with me. Swear off your gambling habits--forever--and I will return you to your home." 

Racetrack pushed himself up slowly and leaned against the wall. He stared earnestly at the Kloppyhead. "Ya look like Kloppman, and he's a nice guy. So I think I can believe what ya say. I can agree ta those terms." Kloppman raised an eyebrow and titled his head at the newsboy. 

"You are able and willing to never game again for the rest of your life?" Race placed his hand across his cheset, his face a portrait of sincerity. 

"I am a changed man. Long hours of hard labor have taught me ta appriciate the good things I got. Gamblin's too risky, I could lose all the stuff I worked for." 

Kloppman wasn't convinced, and he let it show. Inside, he cackled with glee. Race might possibly be a tad bit serious now, but that would last five seconds once he got back to New York. It didn't matter, though. Watching Race squirm as he was now was more than enough. The floating Kloppyhead scrutinized Race from head to toe, and sighed heavily. "It is a deal. But remember your promise!" he warned. 

Race's limbs trembled in relief. "I will," and he collapsed. Maintaining his self-control had used up the very last bit of Race's energy. He fell asleep on the spot, not even noticing the white light that flashed through the air. 

******* 

Crutchy was tied to the uprooted tree, suspended above the fire. The cavemen had, oddly enough, stopped moving entirely. Now Kloppman's floating head was suspended mid-air above Crutchy. 

"About to be fried to a crisp, I see," Kloppman noted. 

Crutchy squirmed, pointing at the Floating Kloppyhead. "IT HOVERS!" 

Kloppman rolled his eyes. Crutchy pleaded, "Please, Kloppman, take me away from here! I can't understand a word these guys is sayin', an' when I say somethin' they make fun of me! And on top of that, they wanna have me for dinner!" 

"More likely they're offering you as a sacrifice," the Kloppyhead said matter-of-factly, "since there ain't enough meat on yer bones to feed this many men." 

Crutchy squeaked in horror. "Please, take me away from here, Kloppman!" 

Kloppman studied Crutchy for a long moment. He was just too loveable to say no to. "Very well. You can come home." 

Crutchy smiled. "Thanks, Kloppy!" 

There was a flash of light, and when Crutchy had disappeared there were several very confused cavemen scratching their heads. 

******* 

"Who dares call upon me and disturb my work?" a thunderous voice boomed from the sky. Long-John Pete, One-Eyed Jack, and the rest of the pirates shivered in awed fear at the spectacle above them. The head of an older mad glared at them from the sky. 

Long-John Pete found his voice and called up to the head, "I a-am Long-John P-Pete! Captain of this ship. You sent us this boy," he pointed to Les, who was still frolicking about the deck, "for reaons that we can only guess! We now repent of all our wrong-doings, and humbly beg you to return this child from whence he came!" 

Kloppman took one look at Les, who was now reattatched to One-Legged Jack's arm, singing his "Wow Jack!" song, and said, "Nahhh..." A moment later, he disappeared. A match for the wail of agony that then resounded from the "Sharksbreath" was never found again in the whole of the great Atlantic ocean. 


	11. The Celebratory Roof-Bash

*The Celebratory Roof-Bash*  
-Monkey- 

Mush slowly cracked open one eyelid and looked around. Realizing that he was back in the lodging house, he awakened fully and jumped out of bed. He was surprised to see that Blink, Jack, Spot, Crutchy, and Racetrack were already out of bed, too. Davey was sprawled out on a random bunk - what was he doing here? - and he, too, had opened his eyes and was groggily staring up at the ceiling. 

The guys all looked uncomfortably at one another. Mush stood there, wondering whether or not he should tell them about the Vikings - had it been a dream? _ 'Course it was a dream, stupid. Even if ya said anythin' about it, they'd think you was crazy. We don't sit around talkin' about our dreams, anyway._

Davey pulled himself up off the bunk. He figured he'd better not say anything to the guys about being sent to the tribe of the Wakkawakka Indians. _It couldn't have been a dream...it was too real. Much too real._

Likewise, the rest of the boys were thinking that if they said a word about their experiences, whether they had been dreams or not, they would be picked at for a long while. So all made silent vows to themselves to keep their mouths shut and forget about it, as long as they remembered not to complain around Kloppman. 

Just then, Kloppman burst through the door with an almost wicked grin on his face. "Good mornin' boys!" he exclaimed. "Gorgeous day!" 

All seven of the boys present glanced out the window. It was raining. Jack opened his mouth to comment, but then he remembered the mud and muck that had covered him just hours before. At least the New York streets weren't mucky. Compared to Medieval England, 1899 New York City was heaven. A grin tugged at the corner of Jack's mouth, for he was happy to be home instead of being roasted by a dragon. "Yeah, Klopp, it is, isn't it?" 

Kloppman cast a cynical glance at Jack. "You, eh, feelin' all right, Kelly?" 

"Sure, why wouldn't I be?" Jack asked the old man. 

Kloppman gazed hard at Jack, and all of a sudden Jack heard, _I was figurin' with that near-death experience you'd be scared outta yer mind._ Jack's eyes widened and Kloppman winked at him. No doubt the others were getting mental messages from the old sage as well, for all of them had similar looks on their faces. Before any of them could make up their minds to say anything about it, Mayer Jacobs burst through the door. 

"David! There you are. Where's your brother?" 

David looked around the bunkroom, but no Les. He fought to keep the wicked grin off his face. "Uh, he's not here, Papa." 

"Then, he's missing? Gone for good?" Mayer asked the room. Everyone shrugged. 

"I'd assume so, Mr. Jacobs," Kloppman said to him. 

"YESSS!!!" Mayer all but screamed. He stopped himself. "I mean..." 

David heard Kloppman's voice in his head. _Your brother is quite happy on the pirate ship I sent him off to. Poor pirates. I pity them. But better them than us, eh?_ Davey lauged and ran up and hugged Mayer. "He's gone! He's gone!" 

The two jumped up and down like a couple of little kids on Christmas morning before calming down. Jack, who was apparently the most overjoyed of all, announced, "Hey, let's have a party to celebrate!" 

Crutchy looked up. "Celebrate what?" 

_The kid's a bit dense,_ Kloppman thought as he looked at the smiling boy listening to Jack patiently answer that Les was gone for good. Crutchy threw down his crutch, jumped up, and did a leg-pumping dance reminiscent of "Carryin' the Banner". 

For the party, the group decided that they should hold it on the roof of the lodging house because of expenses. Esther and Sarah cooked the food and later that night the bash commenced. 

David and Jack had been planning something evil all afternoon, and everyone was starting to wonder what was up. At the party, the two sat together, discussing something. Jack called Kloppman over and they conversed silently with him. Kloppman was grinning evilly and nodding. Then, the three parted ways and no one thought of the conspiracy for a long time. 

Later that night, Jack sat with Sarah on the side of the roof, looking up at the stars. Suddenly, Jack stood up and pulled Sarah up with him. "What are you doing, Jack?" she asked, all bubbly and nauseating. 

"The city is so much nicer to look at when you stand up on the roof," Jack answered. 

"It's the same city and the same roof either way," she answered smartly. Jack rolled his eyes. 

As Davey was walking past the couple, he tripped and knocked into Sarah, sending her flying over the side of the roof. Davey and Jack laughed and shook hands. 

Mid-fall, a bolt of magenta lightning struck Sarah and she disappeared completely. Kloppman grinned at the two boys. David dropped to his knees and clasped his hands in thanks. "Thank you! I am now an only child!" 

Esther and Mayer happily played "Ring Around The Rosie" in celebration of now having only one child, and a very talented, gifted child at that (unlike doily-sewing Sarah and wooden sword-slinging Les). All the guys cheered, because, frankly, Sarah just got on their nerves and they were tired of watching Jack sew doilies because Sarah had insisted that he learn if they were "going to be married someday". 

Jack and David both clapped Kloppman on the back. "I love you, Kloppman!" Jack exclaimed, pulling the old man into a giant bear hug. 

"Leggo! Klop can't breathe," Kloppman choked out before Jack let go. 

The newsies spent the rest of the night partying and celebrating the disappearances of Les and Sarah, 'cause it's not every day two great things happen at once. And, as promised, the boys had learned their lessons and never complained in Kloppman's presence ever again. 

******* 

Sarah Jacobs awakened in the snowy Antarctic. "OOH, snow!!" she exclaimed, lying down and making snow angels until she had spelled out "JACK" in huge letters. When she was done, she looked around and spotted a group of penguins watching her, likely wondering who this psycho was and what she was doing on their turf. 

"Hello, penguins! Do you want Sarah to make you some nice snow doilies?" 

The penguins squeaked with indifference, but Sarah took this as a yes. "All righty!" 

She set about making snow doilies for the penguins. The poor, tortured little birds glanced at one another and waddled off away from Sarah, who remained happily in her doily-making position for hours before realizing that it was terribly cold and building herself and igloo. 

THE END 


End file.
